A Toast to the Future We Saved
by PoliceCommander
Summary: A series of scenes exploring the lives of the various couples of the Plegian War one, five and ten years after the end of the game, to highlight the future that they fought for and secured. Many various pairings, with the first being Chrom/F!Avatar.
1. Chrom & Robin: One Year

Robin & Chrom

**One Year**

The courtyards of Ylisstol always held the most remarkable hues of gold and blue around this time of year, with the flower beds bursting with vibrant, native blossoms.

At one corner of the grandest garden in the palace, there was a bed of dark roses. The darkness of their petals stood out grandly amongst the others, giving them a distinctly foreign appeal. Every day a gardener specialising in unfamiliar plant species would tend to them fastidiously.

The Plegian Bloom, it was called—named for its homeland, and planted in this very garden for remembrance of the Plegian War.

Soldiers took position at the far end of the yard, sparring with lance and sword and firing arrows in quick succession at far-off targets as squires and pages ran to and fro.

Beside the more elite knights was a young man, his back straight and tall, hands settled firmly on the hilt of the stunningly golden blade at his side. His hair was a traditional sort of blue, the colour of Ylisse and of Altea before it.

"Remember, your eyes should always be set ahead. One look back, and your opponent will gain the upper hand," he instructed the two knights facing each other, brandishing silver swords. "It also puts your opponent off, if you look fierce enough," he added with a laugh.

"Don't put ideas in their head, milord," his first knight, a tall brunette with soft blue armour, huffed.

"Frederick, you're much too hard on them. Come now, boys, to battle!"

"Yessir!" the two soldiers lunged at each other eagerly, clashing blades and pulling off manoeuvres the likes of which Chrom had never seen on the battlefield.

Leaving the two to their session, Chrom wandered over to the gardens, turning back to observe his men. They were all spectacularly in form, each putting the same amount of effort into every strike and every parry as the next. He found himself brimming with pride, and raised a hand to touch the brand on his upper right arm.

"Perhaps I'm not doing such a horrible job," he mused, giving himself a wan smile.

Frederick agreed with a strong nod.

"Your Highness, if I may say, I am proud to be serving under such a great, powerful exalt. Your father's image pales in comparison. I know I'm not the only one who thinks as much," he said.

Chrom patted his lieutenant on the back.

Frederick's eyes wandered to the outdoor hallway running alongside the courtyard that led into the castle, and his expression softened.

"Milord, I do believe you've a visitor," he smiled, clasping his hands behind his back.

Chrom followed his gaze and, seeing the young woman walking listlessly through the shadows of the hallway, the light from the yard playing softly on her face, he allowed himself a brief moment of weakness. She was holding the hand of a toddler, keeping watch of her so that every time the little girl stumbled across the path she wouldn't fall and hurt herself, and her other hand was settled on her stomach. They were picture-perfect; paint them in oils and frame them on the wall of the throne room.

"Excuse me for a moment, won't you?" he asked; it wasn't so much a question as an order, but all the same Frederick obeyed with a pleasant smile.

Chrom cut across the cobblestones to his wife, letting his hand slide off the Falchion and instead stretching out in front of him as he knelt down. When his daughter saw him, she grinned, eyes wide with zest, and looked up to her mother for permission. She nodded, smiling broadly, and the little princess shot off into Chrom's arms. He hoisted her up, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and carried her over to Robin.

"What did I say about you walking around like this?" he sighed.

She shrugged and averted her gaze, feigning innocence. He shook his head, though not without cracking the hint of a smirk.

"You should be getting your rest, you know. Your mind needs it—_plus_…"

"Don't you tell me what my mind needs," she rolled her eyes, "I'm just getting a little fresh air with my daughter and visiting my husband. Can't I do that?"

"Of course you can…but…"

"My mind is fine, Chrom," she smiled, shaking her head. "Clear, in fact. For the first time in a long time. I'm…I'm finally home. I'm here with you, and I couldn't be better. The memories aren't quite there yet, no, but…"

He raised a hand to her cheek.

Perhaps it was better that the memories of the war hadn't quite sunk in with her. Perhaps knowing the pain, the violence, the grief that they had endured was too much. He didn't wish it on her, yet he always held on to the hope that one day those memories would return, and she would remember the times they spent together. He was lucky enough that she had remembered him at all, let alone their daughter or their comrades. The memories of her time linked with Grima were all a blur, yet if she concentrated hard enough they came to her.

She was right, though. All that mattered was that she was here. He counted his blessings every day and thanked the gods thousands of times that she had returned to him.

She may have not, but he remembered the pain that had struck him atop Grima's back one year ago.

"_Tell the others my last thoughts were of them_," she'd said, cast him aside with a painless spell, and delivered the final blow to the dragon. When he had finally wrestled himself out of his thundery bindings, she was already fading.

He had run to her as fast as he could—he'd tried, clambered, prayed, yet when he finally reached her, when he finally thought he would hold her in his arms, she was gone. He wished that pain on not even the vilest of fiend.

"You're right," he conceded. Lucina had climbed her way up to sit on his shoulders, swinging her legs languidly, her face buried in her father's hair. "Still, I don't know if I'm so comfortable with you out in the open like this, given that…" He rested a hand on her stomach.

"Yes, well, I know for a fact that this child's a strong one. He won't be beaten by a few hours of fresh air."

"Right again."

"And we already know what to name him, right? Takes away a good portion of the trouble with babies, doesn't it?" she jested. "I _do _remember a certain young prince studying his family tree trying to pick out a name for Lucina."

Hearing her say _I remember_ almost brought a tear to his eye. Maybe she remembered more than he was willing to give her credit for.

At hearing her name, Lucina gave a sheepish grin and hugged Chrom's neck tighter. Just like her future self, she was very much a fan of her exalted father. Not to say that she didn't spend just as much time following Robin around, skimming through the countless books on the tactics of battle strewn around their quarters and pretending to know what they were about.

Chrom couldn't help but see the differences in his two daughters, though. Where the older Lucina had grown up in a world of strife and tragedy, this little girl was always surrounded by the happy, familiar chirps of her people. Where the older Lucina was serious and determined, this Lucina was cheerful and easygoing. That might change in due time, given that she'd just formed a personality of her own, but Chrom was willing to guess that having her parents around would do Lucina a world of good.

"I know he's strong, and I know you're strong, but _you _know that I worry about you," Chrom muttered, grazing her cheek with his thumb. "I just want you to be safe, until everything's back to…the way it was."

At that, Robin nodded, taking the hand on her cheek and enclosing it in hers. Their eyes met, blue to brown, and they both smiled.

It had been almost four years since they met, and almost three since they had gotten married, yet Chrom couldn't picture a life without her—couldn't imagine it. Flashes of memories from his childhood would often appear, nestled deep within his mind, yet reminiscing only proved to sadden him more.

He'd moved on from then, had become the Exalt, had married a beautiful woman and simultaneously failed and succeeded in saving her.

"Lord Chrom!" called a voice from the yard.

Chrom turned abruptly, earning a small laugh from Lucina, who was shaken around on his shoulders.

The two knights from before were waving at him enthusiastically, one carrying a look of arrogant pride, the other a little less smug.

"I've won, Milord!" cried the victor. He bowed low. "All thanks to your advice, no less."

"Don't get cocky," Frederick warned him, but even he allowed himself a brief bout of laughter.

Chrom looked out over the courtyard again, at the young recruits and knights training before the myriad of blues and pinks and, nestled in the corner, the dark crimson of Plegia, his wife's homeland.

* * *

**First in a series of short chapters I'll be doing about the lives of the pairings after the war.**

**Unfortunately, I won't be taking requests or recommendations on which pairings I will be including, so I'm really sorry if a pairing you happen to hate shows up somewhere along the way. All are based on my first playthrough of the European version (which means for anyone who has read my first Fire Emblem story, Come on, Get it Together, which features the pairings of my first Japanese playthrough, the marriages will be different) but I'm hoping you'll love them as much as I do.  
**

**Thank you for reading, and if you could, please drop a quick review.**


	2. Chrom & Robin: Five Years

Robin & Chrom

**Five Years**

Robin often liked to wander the grounds of Ylisstol. Getting out was good for her, even if it wasn't very far at all. After all, she was still a young woman, only twenty-five years old. Perhaps the castle had aged her, or perhaps it was the two children, but either way she still enjoyed the brief moments of respite that she could slip into her day.

The city was grand and vibrant, always brimming with excitement and cheer. Since waking up from her supposed death five years ago, the memories of her time before—including those of her childhood—had trickled back to fill the caverns of her mind. She remembered, only vaguely, the village where she grew up—a small hamlet on the Plegian border where she and her mother hid from the Grimleal for many years. Comparing the memories of that distant village, with heavy clouds brooding, to the crisp image of Ylisstol she face now, she couldn't help but feel a little bit grateful.

She had grown so much that it shocked her, in part because for the first half of her life it seemed as if she were a different person completely, as if the memories of herself as a child and a teenager were someone else's, crammed inside her head. Even her mother's own face, blurred yet distinctly Plegian in nationality, was foreign to her.

She took to thinking about other things—the faces of her comrades, the many conversations she'd had with them during the war, the things they'd shared.

She hadn't seen her daughter—the Lucina from the future—since she had come back. Chrom had told her that she'd set off with Inigo on a grand adventure, the likes of which she hadn't been able to enjoy in her dark future.

Perhaps she wasn't even aware that her mother was alive and well, but that child certainly did have a way of working things out.

Coming back to the palace after a walk in town, with many flowers and native sweets given by villagers in tow, she made her way to the gardens. The hallways leading there were decked with portraits of Ylisse's history.

One was of Chrom's ancient ancestor, an artist's impression of Anri, another of the Hero-King Marth and his wife, further along there were portraits of Chrom's father and mother and the three royal siblings when they were children.

The latest one added to the corridor depicted Chrom and Robin; the Exalt and his tactician-turned-wife, with their daughter and infant son between them. Underneath, the caption read, 'The Heroes of Naga', a title no doubt commissioned by Frederick or Maribelle, or perhaps it was a joint effort between the two. As a knight and magistrate, respectively, she would have thought that they would have had much more pressing matters at hand—such as spending time with their own families, or improving the state of affairs in Ylisse, rather than rallying for such label.

Posing for that painting had been more than uncomfortable, Robin remembered, with Lucina struggling to keep still for such a long period of time and Morgan soiling his pantaloons more than once. She'd apologised profusely to the painter, a talented and famed import from Valm paid for by—yes—Maribelle, and in return he'd replied in a broken accent, "No need, milady, I've children, as well."

He was good to put up with so much for how little he was being paid—Maribelle drove a hard bargain, perhaps due to the extended periods of time they'd spent with the merchant Anna.

Chrom had laughed the whole event off—"It's really quite funny!" he'd chuckled, and his laughter had made the children laugh, and Robin had been the only one who wished the whole thing was over. It wasn't enough that she had to pose for a painting in the first place? She still wasn't used to the formalities of royalty—probably never would get used to it.

Still, she did have to admit that she did have to let out some pent-up laughter once the artist had left, much to Chrom's relief.

She took the time to look at that particular portrait on her way to the gardens, smiling just slightly. Perhaps the artist had exaggerated her looks—he had made her look much more mature, much more beautiful. Someone far more fit to be queen than she.

She shook the thought out of her head; the portrait was lovely. It captured the family perfectly, without letting slip the chaos of that day. So she nodded at it—at her more beautiful self in the painting—and continued down the corridor.

Not one step did she manage to take, however, before she heard the thunderous beating of footsteps on the stones behind her. She half-turned, craning her neck to see where the ruckus was coming from, though when she caught the childish giggles and shouts echoing through the halls, she could have guessed.

Her son bounded from around the corner, his little feet creating little more than pitter-patters on the floor. Lucina was following closely behind him, grinning and laughing as always. She was a chipper young girl, always smiling, yet with a distinct politeness and reverence towards everyone she met. Morgan was quite the same, with an unrelenting, youthful smile—though his bluntness and listlessness hadn't seem to come from either of his parents.

When they saw their mother at the far end of the hall, they both put the brakes on—stopping just before her feet and practically falling over each other in the process.

Robin shook her head.

"What're you two up to?" she sighed, smiling. "Making mischief?"

"_No_—_o_," Lucina acted as if the mere thought was simply inconceivable, even though just the previous week she'd gotten in some great strife for taking it upon herself to trim the wings of the Royal Pegasi. Morgan had tried to cover for her, spluttering something made-up very cutely, before Frederick had dragged them both into Chrom's personal office with their tails between their legs, so to speak.

"Oh? Why do you look so nervous, then?" Robin knelt down, making her children look her in the eyes.

"Nerrrvoussss," Morgan parroted, chuckling under his breath. "Nah-uh."

"Nah-uh!" Lucina agreed. "Father just wanted us to fetch you—he's got a surprise!"

"_Surprise_!" Morgan raised his arms, fingers spread, and did a little, stumpy dance on the spot.

On his palm, the recently-surfaced Brand of the Exalt danced into view. The pride in Chrom's eyes when he saw his son's mark was unrivalled.

Robin had to laugh. She ruffled Morgan's blue hair, pulled him close, and kissed him firmly on the forehead.

She did the same for Lucina, rested a hand on each of their shoulders after both of them had had enough of the affection, and heaved a sigh. "Alright, you lunatics. Take me to your father."

"Yes! Come, Morgan, keep up. Hey! Be careful not to trip! _Morgan_! Come back!" Lucina shot off in pursuit of her little brother, and their booming footsteps began their encore. "_You're going to hurt yourself, Morgan_!"

Robin followed them, eyebrows raised. Never in her short, fractured life was she as happy as she was when she was when she was with her family. Watching her children scramble after each other, the memories of her past that had plagued her beforehand seemed to momentarily black out. They didn't matter.

What replaced them was what mattered—the faces of Chrom, and Lucina and Morgan, and the bright, sunny Ylisstol that she now called home.

Five or ten years down the road, maybe all those bad or meaningless memories she held would be blacked out forever.

Lucina and Morgan, having tired themselves out from their game of cat-and-mouse, led her to Chrom's personal office. During meetings and official business hours, the two were forbidden to enter the premises, but on special invitation or during leisure time, the guard at the door would gladly let them in.

Robin smiled at the young guard when he bowed and pushed the door open inwards, and, after the two children, forwarded in.

Chrom was seated behind his broad desk, wearing an equally broad smile, which intensified tenfold when Morgan climbed up onto his lap.

Robin set her eyes on his face, still youthful and soft even through the pressures of his exalted life, though he had recently grown out a small, well-kept beard that ran along his jaw.

"I heard you had a surprise for me," she said, crossing her arms.

"That I do indeed. Although…the declaration itself was meant to be a surprise… The kids were meant to tell you that there was a crisis in my office, but…apparently they're not very good at keeping to the script," he chortled, bouncing Morgan on his knee.

Lucina escorted Robin by the hand further into the centre of the room.

"Right," Chrom picked up Morgan and stood in place, hands clenched tightly into fists. His eyes were alive with zest, his cheeks ablaze in a reddish-pink hue. "Now that all members are present—"

"Members? Of what club? Where's my membership badge?"

"—Don't interrupt! Ahem—_So_, now that all members of the…uh…Ylissean-Ultimate-Love Club are opresent. D-Don't give me that look, I'm not good with names… A-anyway, now we can discuss our future plans!"

He demonstrated his passion for the subject by throwing his fist lightly into the desk. In the process, he knocked a pot of flowers to the ground, shattering the ceramic vase, and threw a multitude of pen-and-ink sets to the side.

"Oh, gods!" he cursed, raising Morgan high above his head. "Don't step over here, Lucina, it's dangerous—you'll cut yourself! Morgan, hang on, buddy, I'll get it cleaned up and I'll put you down. Uhh—"

Robin burst into an unprecedented laughter, leaning over and slapping her knees.

"Oh, gods, Chrom—trust you to break the foreign vase!"

"Don't laugh! Help me clean it up! Ahh—Morgan, don't cry, buddy…"

Even after so much time and even though he was praised as the hero of the lands, it was humbling to see Chrom had retained his old habits. Broken test-dummies, shattered blades and botched crockery had been a frightfully common occurrence back in their war days.

After getting the place cleaned up, apologising to flustered maids and assuring the Royal Guard that they were safe and sound—and their cries and yelps were simply out of frustration—Robin and Chrom settled in the sitting room off to the right of the office.

Chrom heaved a great sigh and slumped into his seat.

"Sorry I ruined the announcement, dear," he muttered.

She rested a hand on his knee and the other on his back. "Care to tell me what this grand announcement is?"

"Hotrealm!" cried Morgan, who was lying horizontal on the opposite lounge, facing the ceiling and swinging his short legs up and down.

"Ssh. Father was meant to say it," Lucina hushed him.

"Hotrealm?" Robin inquired, furrowing her brow. "The Summer Outrealm? The one we went to—"

"During the war, yes," said Chrom. He sat up and took his wife's hands in his. "I remembered what you said back then—about us maybe going back there one day as a family. Anna told us we were always welcome to go back, and…Well, let's go back! There's nothing stopping us now. No wars, no dragons, no…absences."

"Oh, you know, except for the fact that you are the _king_ of an entire country that needs you. You can't abandon your duties for something so silly…"

"That's what you said when I wanted to marry you," he grunted, lowering his voice so that the children didn't hear.

"And we set aside a date when we thought all was at peace. This is different—you shouldn't sacrifice such an important duty for…for me," said Robin.

He caressed her cheek softly and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. "You're important, too. After all we've been through, we deserve this break. And besides, I've already invited the rest of the army."

"Chrom—"

"No weaselling your way out of it. The chancellor and all my men are more than capable of running the country for a month or so while we're away. They did so wonderfully when we were away fighting. In this era of peace, we're at even less risk of something happening while we relax and put our feet up," he kissed her again, earning a little "ew" from Lucina and Morgan, "so what do you say, Robin?"

She turned to the children, whose eyes were watering, pleading, their fingers intertwined like beggars'.

"Hotrealm," Morgan repeated sharply, pouting.

Robin laughed.

"How can I say no? You're all ganging up on me! It'll be good to get together again, besides. I haven't seen everyone together in so long. I'll have to get used to their faces again."

"Then that's a yes!? Ha ha! Excellent! I swear to you, Robin, this time I'll make the grandest seashell necklaces, and I'll…maybe leave the fish-grilling to someone a little more apt…"


	3. Chrom & Robin: Ten Years

Robin & Chrom

**Ten Years**

Robin brought her fingers into a tight fist, clenching it tightly around her fountain pen, relaxing and tightening her grip sporadically. Hours of jotting down nonsense were detrimental to the palm, not to mention the ink stains that took hours of scrubbing to wash out.

After the cramp in the side of her hand had subsided, she dipped the nib into the ink well again and pressed it to the page, drawing pen across paper in neat, legible lines. At the end of the page, she signed her name swiftly, blowing on it sharply to dry, and folded the piece of paper. Slipping it into an envelope, she set down her pen and replaced it with a small ladle of hot wax, which she dribbled onto the opening of the envelope gingerly.

With her own personal stamp, she pressed down onto the wax, sealing the letter.

'Council of Plegia', the seal read.

Robin sighed, massaged her right hand again, and threw the envelope onto the already-towering pile beside her.

"That's the last one," she groaned, slumping down over her desk. She propped herself up on her elbows, burying her face in her hands before moving her fingers to draw deep circles around her temples. "Last one," she repeated. "For today."

Since Ylisse took charge of governing Plegia after another bout of political strife, Robin had been busying herself with administration. Chrom certainly hadn't the patience or the need for such duties, so she took it upon herself to do her part.

"I guess we could call you the Ylissean-Governor-Ambassador, huh?" Chrom had suggested, to which she had raised an eyebrow and laughed.

It was the least she could do. It was her homeland, after all, and seeing as her father was the last king of Plegia, she felt it only right to make up for it. After Validar's defeat, Ylisse and Ferox had let Plegia decide its own fate.

Some subversives of the Grimleal in the political circle had elected a leader and named him prime minister, but after six years or so the novelty of a new leader wore off, and the problems that Plegia were actually facing began to shine through the cracks, leading to political upheaval and public protests for democracy.

So Chrom, being the benevolent leader and all-around-nice-guy he was, had offered to look after some of Plegia's duties for the time being—at least until it could solve its own issues out.

So Robin had volunteered, of course, to lift the burden off her husband's shoulders, and now here she was. Sitting at a rickety wooden desk, with a pile of official letters, written solely by the light of a dim candle, over which a pot of wax was held up by a stand.

She blew the candle out half-heartedly and let the darkness consume her for a while. She folded her arms on the surface of the desk and rested her chin on them, looking ahead, blinking slowly.

Outside, she could vaguely hear the sound of laughter, and the soft melody of a lute being played.

It reminded her of the war; the particular scene of their camp-of-the-moment at supper time flashed into her head. Sitting by the fire's glow, hearing a song or two from Brady's violin—after being pestered by his mother—and above all enjoying every moment that they weren't in the heat of battle. Moments like that were rare and savoured, and there was seldom talk of war and battle when they all came together that way.

The lute's gentle song drew to a peaceful end, and a small round of applause followed it.

Robin stood and rounded the desk to face the door.

She pressed her forehead against the coarse wood and rested a hand on the doorknob.

What would be on the other side, she wondered. Nothing, or everything, or even more nothing.

She often worried that she was in the midst of a dream, being unable to separate it from reality, and sometimes she worried that her entire life was merely an elaborate lie.

Perhaps she'd died for good when she'd killed Grima. Perhaps these past ten years were Naga's way of softening the blow—giving her another chance to be with her family in death.

That would have explained a lot of things, after all. The peace, the happiness. Maybe it was too good to be true.

She made to open the door, unafraid of what was on the other side. If everything did disappear, then so be it. That only meant that she had lived out the last ten years of her life—illusion or not—to the best of her ability, filled with love for her family and gratitude towards Naga.

If not, and she really was here, flesh and blood, then that was all the more wonderful.

So she took a chance. But before she could turn the knob the whole way, the door swung open.

She took a step back, looking up at her visitor.

"Oh, were you about to join us? Finished your work, then?" said Chrom, wearing a broad grin. He was dressed not in his traditional royal garb, but in a simple dark green tunic tied at the throat, with pale slacks and heavy boots. It was not an outfit one usually saw a king sport, and in fact was usually seen on the forms of villagers and beggars, but somehow Chrom had made it seem natural. His face, unlike ten years before, was visibly older, though it did not lack the handsome charm that she fell in love with. He had kept his moustache-less beard, though today it was slightly less groomed than usual, and as always he had a look of both concern and happiness contorting his features.

"All done," she smiled.

The concern in his expression faded somewhat, and he nodded. "Great. I'll give them to one of the envoys, and he can take it to the castle. So, are you ready to relax?"

"More than ready," Robin yawned, stretching out. "I've been stuck behind a desk for hours."

"And I did well not to bother you, didn't I?"

"You certainly did," she said. He leant down to kiss her and they shared a brief embrace.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered only barely in his ear.

"Really? No scolding? No 'you're the king of the realm' lecture?" he chuckled, but she didn't laugh along.

She shook her head, nuzzling into his shoulder. "I'm just glad you're here. You didn't have to be. You shouldn't be, but you are."

"I'll always be here. No matter where you go, I'll always be here. I'm your husband, aren't I?"

He snaked his hand around to take hers and, when they parted, led her into the next room.

It was a small house, made simply of surprisingly sturdy wood, with the office being its only spare room. The owner had been so kind as to lend it to Robin for her administration duties as well as let the family stay under her roof.

They made their way down a small, unlit hallway, hand intertwined tightly as if they were teenage sweethearts.

The room the corridor opened up onto was much less cramped, much broader than the office, with the distinctly rural charm that every house around these parts seemed to harbour.

Robin felt something in her depths swirl as she entered that room.

A fragment of nervousness, or a concealed memory longing to pop up to the surface. It only made her want to grip his hand tighter and settle in closer to him.

Morgan and Lucina were sitting on chairs near a burning hearth to the right. Morgan's legs were still too short to reach the ground, so he swung them languidly to and fro. Lucina, on the other hand, had grown so much in the past year. Her back was straight, her hands settled gingerly in her lap, the light of the fire creating a glint in her lighter-blue which, as always, held the Mark of the Exalt. Beside them, with her back turned, was a woman holding a lute.

"Play us another song?" Morgan pleaded.

The woman chuckled softly. "Child, I'm near all out of songs for you!"

"Aw—then play a song you've already played, and I'll pretend I haven't heard it before."

"Morgan, I think she's tired… Oh, Mother and Father," Lucina smiled. "You finished your work?"

Robin nodded, earning a few expressions of cheer from the two children.

The lute-player turned in her seat to face the two newcomers, revealing an old, soft-looking face, tight-lipped mouth curved into a gentle smile.

"So you've decided to join us?" she asked.

Robin nodded. "I'm sorry for barging in on your home just for work," she muttered.

The feeling that her face evoked in Robin was still so odd.

The woman shook her head. "Not at all. I rather enjoy the company of your family. Besides, it's your home, too."

_Home_.

The word struck clear and deep. Home had always been Ylisse. For the past ten years, it had been in her quarters with her husband, with the familiar sound of the troops training outside her window, and the shouts of her children as they ran amok. Looking around herself, at this dank little cottage, the word home seemed far from right.

Yet, in a way, she could see it. The person she was not twenty years ago would often sit by the hearth to dry off after swimming in the lake with other villagers. That little girl was so naive, so gullible and ignorant. Remembering her was like watching a play—observing a stranger gallivant across the stage that had been her life.

But one memory out of all of them felt right, and it fit into place snugly.

It was the memory of the lute-player, who had slung a coat over that Robin's shoulders, told her it would all be okay, and sent her off to run. That was the last memory she could muster before the earliest memory of her new life—Chrom's face, standing over her, smiling.

"I suppose it is," Robin couldn't help the grin that crept up onto her lips. She took a seat beside Morgan, and Chrom pulled a chair over beside her. "But I didn't come here just to be an utter stiff."

The older woman brushed a strand of greyish-blue hair behind her ear and nodded.

"Then in honour of our new guest, I think I should play a special song," she said. Morgan threw his hands up in the air and fell back against the wooden frame. Lucina seemed embarrassed for him, but patted him on the shoulder nonetheless.

The woman began to strum and pluck her way through a graceful tune—melancholy yet brimming with hope and verging on cheerful. It was a familiar song. She remembered only vaguely lying in a bed of straw, listening to a lute-less version of this very melody. The lyrics she couldn't recall, but the voice she did. A deep yet crisp voice, lulling her to sleep, smiling over her.

It was the voice that undoubtedly belonged to this woman now. How Robin had found it—found _her_—had been a mystery, as sudden and distant as when she had woken up in a grass field at the beginning of her new life.

Even the lute, old and worn, was familiar, but Robin couldn't quite place the exact memory.

All she knew was that sitting here with Chrom, and with Morgan and Lucina, away from the hustle and bustle of Ylisstol or the stressful clutter of her administration work for just a moment, she was home.

In that moment she felt the two lives within her head—that little girl living in this very house, and the woman she was now—merge into one.

For the first time she felt what it was like to remember. There was a fluttering feeling in her chest, a warm blush spreading over her face. She reached over to hold Chrom's hand. It was too good to be true.

They might have been a little too old for such things, but having been married for such a long time the gesture didn't quite mirror the embarrassment and romance of their early days. Just feeling the light pressure he gave her, his coarse thumb grazing over her knuckles, was enough to know that this was real.

When the song ended, they clapped once more.

It got late very fast, and the prince and princess were sent to bed, reluctant as they were. Though they may not have wanted to admit it, they were children, and Ylisse or not they needed sleep.

The three adults reconvened at a shaky old table with one short leg in the middle of the main room, talking, laughing, and drinking a Plegian wine from around those parts.

"Do you remember that one?" asked the old woman.

"What?"

"The last song I played. Do you remember it?"

Robin nodded slowly. "Well…You sang it to me when I was a child, didn't you? When I had bad dreams and couldn't sleep?"

"That's right, I did. The night I made you run, after the Grimleal had left in search for you again, I sang it to myself. I prayed with that song to Naga, begging, _pleading_ for you to get away," the old woman paused to catch her breath, as if she were overcome by the sheer emotion. "And here you are, with the finest family I've ever seen. You've done so well for yourself. Better than I could have ever imagined. I…When I let you go, I thought…I didn't know what to think. I was surprised that they had left me alive, along with half the other townspeople, but… I knew it was my fault. I brought you into a world far too dark and evil for such a bright and shining child. To see you here—_royalty_, with a husband and children… I prayed and prayed for this day."

"I've had good help," Robin felt Chrom's hand on her knee. "Not many men will leave their kingdom to take their wife on a trip to her hometown. I'm repaying him, though, with all that paperwork."

"She's a good ambassador, and as the Exalt it's my duty to oversee progress in Plegia," Chrom shrugged, cracking a sidewards smile. "We're two halves of a whole."

Two halves of a whole—incomplete without each other.

It had been Chrom who, over the past twelve years, had always been there, just as she was always there for him. It had been Chrom who had saved her when she thought she was gone—when darkness had claimed her, and she was lying still in a silent void. It had been with Chrom that she had resurrected Plegia, and it had been Chrom whom she watched lead his country with determination and benevolence. Together they had done so much—they had saved the word, travelled to countless others, raised two fine children, said goodbye to two more, uncovered her lost childhood.

She thought back to those ten years ago: _Chrom & Robin 4 Ever_ scrawled out in the sand, and uttered a little laugh.

"Yes, we are, aren't we? Apart from you I'm just no good. I mean, who else would go out to find my…mother." Saying it was refreshing. Mother. It was different, but not bad.

The world was ever-changing. A week ago she had met her mother, ten years ago she had woken up in the middle of a field, pulled back to the life she thought she had sacrificed, and even before that she had fled from a burning village after hugging her mother goodbye.

Yet there was always one constant. One thing that was always there.

So Robin stayed close to Chrom as she spoke with her mother, careful not to raise their voices too much, and the evening drew on harmoniously.

* * *

**Aaand, that's the first one.**

**I wanted to focus on Robin's own troubles with dealing with her "resurrection" even ten years after the end of the game. I think meeting her mother would be a good thing, too, since it's never really explored in-game.**

**I'm not sure which couple I'd like to do next, so if you'd like to give me a name (including children characters, except for Laurent) I'll write them and their partner (of my choosing, sorry again) next. **

**I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for all the lovely reviews and comments, I hope you'll continue to do so!**


	4. Owain & Noire: One Year

Owain & Noire

**One Year**

"Down, sword hand!" Owain choked out, his arm shivering as he clutched his sleeve. "The blood of the heroes courses within me! This is it—I've got it!"

"O-Owain!?"

"Fragrance bursts from the seams of an incandescent plane of decadence, gilded and heavenly as the planets align in honour of thee—the wings of taste and beauty explode from the core of a pure white pool of bitter sweetness—It's…It's coming to me! This masterpiece is definitely named… The Beholden Angel of the Stars!"

Noire felt a jolt of excitement rush down her spine, and she stood slightly, clapping enthusiastically.

"You're so talented, Owain," she breathed, her eyebrows still pushing inwards, slanted to give her a permanent look of concern. Her clapping died down. "I wish I could just come up with anything and make it sounds beautiful…"

Owain flicked his thumb across his nose and grinned. "I'm overcome by my love for you, my dear!"

She giggled softly and took the last slice of her homemade cake.

"You don't… only love me because of my sweets, do you?"

"Wh—No! The mere thought strikes evil! I love you because…uh…" A lengthy silence followed.

Noire wiped her mouth with a rag, looked up, and met his gaze expectantly.

Her eyebrows unfurrowed, lowering to cast deep shadows over her eyes. Slowly her shoulders began to shake. Having been together so long, Owain knew exactly where this was leading.

"No, no! Wait for it!"

"BLOOD AND THUNDER," cried Noire, standing abruptly. As she brought her fists down to strike the table, crumbs flew around them. "INSOLENT FOOL—YOUR LOVE FOR ME IS A FARCE—"

"N-Noire! There are so many reasons that I love you that I can't just pick out one, m-my love! My—My head's a mess when I'm around you! I couldn't possibly answer such a deep-seeded question!"

Her snarl softened, and her brow returned to its usual worried self. She slumped back down in her chair, bunching her shoulders up close to her neck.

"I-I'm sorry…I guess I got a little worked up… I didn't go too far, did I…?"

Owain let out a sigh of relief and chuckled heartily.

"No, not this time. Though nothing could frighten Owain, frankly," he winked. "Hey, did you know it's now on a year since the end of the war? You know what? We should celebrate! My sword hand has hungered for a celebration of victory for far too long—its only curse is its loathing of peace!"

Noire shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

She mustered a meek smile and nodded. She often exhibited such melancholy smiles. Her eyes fell from his face to her lap, her ash white hair slipping down to hang around her face. She tucked it back behind her ears and nodded slowly.

"One year…" she muttered.

Owain's grin broadened. "Yes! A year, my lady! A year since I took your hand in my own and we swore ourselves to each other forevermore! A year since my sword hand guided my blade through the last fearsome ghoul and tasted its fowl stench! My sword hand is twitching at the mere memory… I can only imagine the feeling of my blood pumping in my veins as I—Hey, are you all right?"

Noire didn't seem to have heard him, tilting her head somewhat as she thought to herself. She reached up to her neck, but the talisman that her fingers searched for found only the pale skin of her throat.

Owain observed her carefully, his eyes narrowing.

Such a beautiful display, she was—and yet watching her for too long could have made him tear up.

"Noire?"

She jerked back to reality, head tilting up gently to look at him again. He searched her face thoroughly, bringing his thumb up to prod the bridge of his nose pensively.

"Something wrong, my love?"

"Hm…? Oh… Maybe my mother put a hex on me when we left… I've been feeling terribly…shaken since then…"

"A hex!?" Owain gasped, his hand reaching for the hilt of Missiletainn. "Never fear, my love—I shall rid you of it!"

Noire shuddered slightly, shoulders still trembling, but nonetheless mustered an open smile.

"Owain, you really are my white knight," she giggled softly.

"Of course I am. I'm sworn to you, remember? The blood that boils in my veins belongs to you as well as my honoured family line. So—how do we get rid of hexes? You dabble in such magic, don't you, love?" The sheer look of determination on his face spoke far louder than words. He would have cut the air into thousands of fragments to bring a smile to her face and he wanted to make her know it.

"I…I suppose, but…" Noire thought briefly back to the conversations she'd had with her mother, though brief and somewhat awkward. Her mother and father's faces flashed painfully in her mind, and she let her head drop again. "I think I'll just retire for the night."

Owain pouted, frowning, and let his hand slide off the hilt. "It's morning," he said. "We've our whole day ahead of us. Don't you want to see my new _Formotiis' Grasp _move? I've incorporated into the Ylissean House stance, even. Behold—"

"Maybe tomorrow… Besides, you know how those moves scare me…"

"Oh, but you've nothing to fear! Well, my sword hand may be a fearsome entity indeed, yet I'd never let any harm befall my beloved!" His hand actions and the clenching of his fists brought his face alive with passion, his eyes seemingly burning with zeal from his own words.

"I just…need to lie down…" she muttered. She collected herself meekly and made to walk away, but before she could take two steps, Owain's hand caught hers.

"You look glummer than usual, my dear. Perhaps it's the blood of the divine heroes commanding my speech, but is there something wrong? Forgive me if I'm mistaken. My blood seems to run thin when you're feeling down…_er_," his grip on her hand never wavered, even as the silence drew on.

His eyes were always fixed on her—they never strayed. Even on the battlefield, and on their already long-winded post-war journey, he was always checking back at her to make sure she was safe. Perhaps it was because he'd grown up with the image of the cowardly little girl cowering powerless in the corner whilst her friends fought, or perhaps it was because he simply wanted to protect her, but either way Noire felt him constantly flanking her defences. It was a comfort unlike any other, and yet…

She sank back down into her seat, and this time he pulled a chair up next to her. He was rarely ever on the same level as her. He was always her white knight, towering above her.

She heaved a gentle little sigh and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I guess I…Since we left Plegia, I guess I've been…missing Mother and Father… I guess it brings back old memories…"

"You want me to take you back there? Because I can! The ferocity of my sword hand can cut down any foe to lead you back to your family, though using it would bring me back to square one in my whole 'staying the sword hand' quest," he mulled it over deeply for a little while, as if calculating the entirety of a dramatic play in his mind. In fact, he probably was. Noire could picture him as the stunning star player on a gilded stage, reciting deep words of poetry from his soul as if he were meant for it.

If they ever did succeed in staying that sword hand, perhaps acting would have been a good career to settle into.

Noire shook her head. "No…you're my family now, Owain. And though I miss my parents dearly, I…I can't go back just yet. I have to make sure I'm not such a coward, so my parents don't worry about scaring me anymore. With you, I'm not scared…I need to be tough like you, Owain… I need to…be like that…all the…" her sentence trailed off into sniffles and sobs, though no tears soiled her cheeks.

Owain's breath hitched.

His hand rested on her knee and the other on her back. She jolted at the sudden contact and raised her worried gaze to meet his.

"Then let's get tough together," he nodded sharply, smirking again. "I miss my folks too, but we always knew that we weren't going to be with them forever, right? I mean, we imposed on their lives in the first place, right? They didn't even know they had kids! But that's not to say that we can't go visit them all the time—they love us, and we're their family! I just think—you and I—together we can journey across the plane of infinity and come back as brand new people. People our mothers and fathers can be proud of. I wish to end this hungering that grips my sword hand like a bone between the teeth of a mighty beast, and you wish to become braver—someone who can stand up for herself without using that…uh…colourful personality. So let's push on! Let's just let our parents have their own lives, and when we return as the twice the dazzling couple we were when we left, they'll be on their knees crying and thanking the gods!"

Noire's eyebrows were still furrowed, yet she did muster the most gentle and genuine of smiles.

"Oh, Owain…You make me feel as if anything's possible…"

"It is! Anything's possible for us, my love. With _Mysteltainn _and _Shinon's Glare_ at our sides, we shall tear our way through any adversary!"

Noire giggled. "Shinon's Glare?"

"Your bow, of course. I've polished it meticulously, and I imagine by now it deserves such a gallant name," he said proudly.

"I just…I don't want to forget my parents' faces… I'm worried that they'll forget me… What if they love this timeline's Noire more than they love me?" she muttered.

Owain laughed at the very notion, "Not possible! You're the shining white dove in a valley of darkness! There's no way they could forget such a marvellous, beautiful woman! I mean, their whole worlds are about darkness! It'd be hard to take your eyes off something so bright when all you're used to is blackness. Besides, I'm your white knight! I'll love you no matter what—_this _you, not some other child. I'm sure your parents feel the same. The same blood courses through you and that baby, so there's no reason for them to love you any less than she! I know mine will never forget me! I've left them with the image of my heroism, I hope. Urgh…All this…_passion_…"

She fell silent for a moment, her eyes dropping to her lap again. Before Owain could ask her if something else was wrong, or if he'd said the wrong thing, though, she mustered up every ounce of courage she had left from the war and leant over to kiss him.

It was a brief kiss, but warm and filled with passion. The type of kiss Owain could speak about for hours in a soliloquy of grandeur.

His cheeks flushed red when they parted.

"W-What do you say I take our minds of our folks with another epic elegy from the depths of my hero's mind?"

"I don't have any cake left…"

"Please, my love! You've enough sweetness in your very soul than ten sugar cakes!"

"Oh, you're so charming…"

* * *

******I might only do "One Year" chapters for children characters, seeing as I can't really imagine them being too much older, but if I (or any of you) really enjoy a pairing I'll do more on them. Please tell me what you thought, and I'm sorry if this ship isn't to your liking.**

**Also, I love Owain. Bye.**


	5. Lissa & Vaike: One Year

Lissa & Vaike

**One Year**

"You know who I miss? Owain," Lissa mused aloud, swinging backwards on her chair as its front legs lifted dangerously off the ground.

"That kid? Gee, almost forgot about him."

Lissa leant over briefly to hit him as best she could on the shoulder, but he didn't even flinch.

"You think I ain't kidding? As if the Vaike'd forget his own boy!" he grinned, shovelling another mouthful of homemade porridge into his mouth and chewing on it with his mouth open.

Lissa rested her arms on the table and slumped forward to prop her chin up on her wrist. "Yeah, I know. Do you think he misses us?"

"Nah—he's too strong, like his Pa. Ya know, when I was a kid, my Pa went to fight in the war real heroically, right? Ya know what I did? I bought my first axe and—"

"—lost it on the way home?" she grinned.

"Gh—No! Hey, wipe that grin of yer face! This is a serious story, y'know!"

"Mm—yeah, I know. I was just having some fun. But you're right. Owain's probably really happy out on his own…I just wish he'd come and visit soon before his baby self arrives. Aw, wouldn't that be so cute? Big Owain 'n little Owain together? Ca-yoot!" her eyes were sparkling at the thought, and her Cheshire grin widened.

"Tch. When he comes back he'd better've gotten that sword hand into shape—I've been dying for a duel ever since we came back. Nothing holds more thrill for the Vaike than clashing blades with Son of Vaike! At least, since Chrom's been so busy with rulin' the country 'n all. I mean, how busy could he be that he can't spare the time to go man-to-man with his fated rival, y'know?" he scooped up the last few mouthfuls of porridge and crammed them into his mouth, then threw down his spoon triumphantly. "_Ma_!" he called. "'Nother plate!"

"What're you talking about? Chrom _always _spars with you at every Shepherds meeting!" Lissa giggled.

"Yeah, but it doesn't hold the _passion_ that it used to. I know my boy'd put his all into a good fight. He's a scrawny kid, but _pow_! His sword hand packs a punch, y'know?" Vaike leant back in his chair, and in reply it groaned and creaked under his weight. "It might be a bit weird, but I gotta admit, he's good at what he does, dramatics or no."

He was wearing a simple sleeveless tunic, his bare arms showcasing the many faded scars and other wounds he'd received from countless battles and sparring sessions gone wrong.

When, out of the corner of his eye, he caught her looking at them, he tensed his biceps and grinned, though the slop around his mouth and chin subtracted from the appeal.

Lissa fetched a piece of cloth from the other side of the table and almost lunged at him, shoving it in his face and wiping his chin. "You're so gross!" she scolded as he tried only partly to wrestle her away. He quite enjoyed the attention, though, and relented to her attack until all traces of his meal had been successfully obliterated.

When she pulled away, she threw down the rag and took a seat again.

"Sorry I ain't got your snooty royal upbringin', miss. This is how _real_ men eat! The Vaike needs his nutrition. 'Specially since I'm gonna be a dad soon. Gotta get in shape for the kid," he crossed his arms and yawned as he spoke, then took to picking at his teeth.

"Do real men only eat food prepared by their mothers? Still, that's really cute, Vaike. You really wanna make a good impression on Owain? I'm not even pregnant yet!"

"That don't matter," Vaike said. "Gotta get ready some time. Better sooner than later. Plus, I'm kinda sick of Chrom and Robin gettin' all the attention." He leant forward. "This is what makes us destined rivals. My kid'll be twice the man Lucina is."

"I would hope so!"

An older woman came into the room from the back, her calloused hands massaging the back of her neck, her face soft yet visibly weary with age and her hair a greying blonde.

"What's that, boy?" she groaned.

"I said I'm done. Mind makin' me another bowl? I'm goin' out to train the boys, and I need to build up my strength if I'm gonna knock 'em all on their backsides," Vaike reluctantly took a kiss on the forehead from his mother.

"All right, you fool. Just try not to get too hurt."

"You kiddin'? Ain't no battle Teach can't win."

"Fine, then don't hurt _them _too much," the woman sighed. She shot a smile at Lissa. "Your wife's already had to treat a few injuries around town…Especially after you beat them all up for starin' too long at her. That was uncalled for, I'd say, dear."

Vaike was fuming, and reached over to take Lissa's hand.

"No one tries to steal Mrs The Vaike! I got my eye out, Lissa. Ain't no one gonna take you away from me," he tried to keep his voice down, though he had always struggled to do so, and his mother offered a huffy bout of laughter.

Since coming back from the war, Vaike had set up classes for the local boys who wanted to learn about war and combat from a bona fide Shepherd. He'd certainly legitimised the name "Teach", that was for sure. Lissa was impressed by his zest for the classes. Before he had left, Owain had attended a few as well. Seeing the sheer look of pride on Vaike's face as he sparred with his boy filled Lissa with an unmistakable feeling of love.

She was handy with an axe, too, from her brief stint as Vaike's pupil in the war, but her husband wouldn't allow her to endanger herself in any way, and so she had taken to setting up similar classes for magic and healing students in the neighbourhood.

Regardless, the two were much-loved assets to the forgotten little corner of Ylisstol—especially Lissa, whose talents and gentle nature were always sought after by the young folk around town.

"Aw, Vaike," Lissa grinned. "You're so sweet…For that, I'll clean your side of the bed out this afternoon."

"Wha?"

"I may have put a few dead beetles in there. But I'll get them out now I know you're so sweet."

Vaike's mother uttered another muffled groan, rubbing her neck again.

"Ma, ya all right?"

Lissa stood. "Your neck hurting, Ma? You need me to take a look at it? I _think _I still have a staff around here somewhere…"

Lissa hadn't even realised that she'd called her 'Ma'. The name had been slipping off her tongue for the past few weeks, and as far as she could tell, the older woman didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

She had been so open and loving to Lissa since she arrived. She really was like a mother to her now, and the status gap didn't seem to bother any of them. Now that she thought about it, though there had been some sheepish townspeople around in the first few weeks, Lissa had fit right in with this area of Ylisstol. She didn't even miss the constant badgering from maids and knights at the castle.

"Nah, I just got a kink in it from workin' in the garden too long," she grunted. "But thanks, love. Don't waste your talents on some old hag like me."

"You ain't a hag, Ma. And y'know I can be doin' all that garden stuff for ya. I'm really good with a shovel. It's like a really long, blunt axe that pulls up dirt 'n stuff," Vaike yawned.

"You'd probably just rip up all the good flower beds, Vaike," Lissa groaned. "_I'll_ do the gardening, Ma. You can stick to training the boys."

"That can wait, can't it?" Vaike nodded to himself. For a moment, the gruffness and usual arrogance in his voice disappeared. "Whaddaya say, Liss? You and me, gardenin' out there like—like—gardeners or somethin'?" He hauled himself up and flung his arms around her neck, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "It'll be better than all those crummy flowers at the castle."

"Those flowers are beautiful, thank you very much!" Lissa muttered, but she returned the kiss nonetheless. "All right. Then maybe I can go watch Teach in action, huh? Watch you whip those guys into shape?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," said Vaike. "Hear that, Ma? I'll take a raincheck on that extra batch. I got some gardenin' to do. Why don'tcha take a load off and lie down, eh? Teach's gonna make the best damn garden ever! Ur—how do ya build a garden, anyway?"

"Oh, you damn fool," Vaike's mother sighed. "Lissa, make sure he doesn't get into too much strife. I trust you, at least."


	6. Lissa & Vaike: Five Years

Lissa & Vaike

**Five Years**

"Get back here, ya rascal!" Vaike roared with a grin, clambering up the side of the hell with his arms stretched out before him. "Gods, this kid runs fast… Hey, Lissa, you back there?"

In truth, Lissa was struggling to keep up. She slowed to a jog, then stopped in her tracks, bending over to rest her hands on her knees.

"Owain! Get back here!" she yelled, though she made no effort to keep chase.

The boy's stumpy legs seemed to be going a mile a minute, his hands hovering out beside him, his golden hair glimmering in the light of the afternoon sun.

"Crivens!" Vaike grunted, stumbling over a branch. He regained his balance just in time, stumbling forward, and lunged towards his son. "Owain, come to Papa!"

Owain skipped ahead only faster, giggling to himself.

"Stupid Risen! You'll never ever catch me!" he shouted to himself, hopping forward with both legs pounding against the grass. His boots were wrecked and slathered in mud.

If Lissa didn't have a heart attack by the end of this ordeal, Vaike's mother sure would.

"_Owain_!" Vaike yelled once more, his voice booming and, for once, totally devoid of jest.

The little boy ran a few more metres, but when he came to the top of the hill, he came to a sliding, abrupt halt.

Vaike took the chance, taking his son by the shoulders and pulling him towards him.

"Hey! Look at me! You gotta stop runnin' off like that, runt! Look at your mum, she's darn worried," he turned Owain around manually to face him, and to his surprise found his son on the verge of tears.

Owain's lip quivered, his brows knit.

"Woah! Hey, hey! What's wrong, kiddo? Hey, you ain't gonna bawl on me are ya?"

The youth shook his head rapidly, but all the same rubbed his eyes. He flexed his hand and look down at it gloomily.

"I forgot it!" he cried.

Vaike placed a hand firmly on his son's head. "Wha?"

"I lost Misslyton! I lost it! It's not here!"

"_Misslyton_? What the—_oh_, you mean your darn sword," Vaike groaned, remembering the wooden sword that he'd crafted for him months earlier. Lissa had strongly disapproved, but it had made Owain so happy that she didn't really mind after a while. He had read through—or rather, had his mother read—so many books about Jugdrali legend that he'd named his sword after that of the descendants of Hezul, _Mysteltainn_.

Vaike and Lissa both had been surprised at the proclamation—something about his "first weapon-naming" had brought Lissa to tears. It must have reminded her of the older Owain, who'd since gone off on a grand adventure with his own wife.

"Where'd you leave it, runt?"

"I'unno. Somewhere," he muttered.

"On the ground?"

"I'unno." He shrugged, his face going crimson and tears welling up in his eyes. "I lost it. I can't protect you anymore, Papa! I'm sorry!" The gentle slur of his babyish voice merged all words together; a string of murmurs muffled even more so by the sobs he was attempting to stifle.

"Hey, what's that about? Listen t' me, kiddo," Vaike held him by the shoulders at arms length, kneeling down to his level, and grinned his usual, youthful grin. "You know who's kid you are?"

"Teach!"

"You're damn right. You're Teach's kid. And you know what Teach did when he went to fight?"

"Beat the baddies. Protected Mama and stuff."

"Right again! You know what I did it _with_?" he leaned in closer, as if sharing his deepest, darkest secret.

"An axe?"

"Sometimes," Vaike chortled. "But more often than not, your dad forgot his axe back at camp, and I'd have to borrow a bow or somethin' from one of my teammates! Sometimes I'd make axes outta rocks and sticks!"

"No. Way," the sheer look of awe on Owain's face was priceless. "You didn't! Papa, you're lying!"

"I ain't! I forgot stuff all the time! I almost lost the axe your mum gave me the day before we beat the hell outta the Fell Dragon. Didja know that?"

"Nah-uh. But you still protected everyone, huh?"

"That's right. I never lost a fight—Not one. So how about I teach ya to make your own swords outta sticks and rocks?" He tousled Owain's hair, which, scruffy and unruly, was doused in sweat.

"Yeah! A-And I'll name 'em all! A-And I can make special moves for 'em, huh? Can we?" Owain pulled away from his father's grasp, too excited to be held down. He paced around in circles, eyes wide with excitement.

Lissa came clambering up the hill, panting loudly.

"Oh gods…I thought I was done with the running," she muttered, holding her back. She was still so small and petite, yet the way her husband and son would shoot off without her, leaving her to worry after them, sometimes made her feel decades older. "Vaike! You got him!"

She suddenly regained all the energy she had lost, and scooped up the little boy in her arms. She planted kisses on his dirty face and hugged him tightly.

"Stupid boy! Don't you dare run off on your own like that! Do you have any idea how worried I was!?"

"I was goin' to go spar with Gerome," Owain muttered innocently. "Sorry, Ma."

"That's all right, baby." She set him down, brushing down his dusty shoulders and arms. "Look at you! You're filthy!"

"I think he looks okay," Vaike mused, raising an eyebrow. "He's clean as a whistle. Don't even smell, ain't that right, boy?"

"Right! Pa was gonna show me how to make swords outta dirt, and then we're gonna go to Gerome's house or maybe Brady's and get Lucina and Morgan and Laurent and we might invite Kjelle but she's scary good at training a-and we're gonna come up with _so _many different moves and _I'm _gonna name them all because Gerome's no good at it and Morgan's not old enough to come up with good names like me and—"

"Woah, hey there, tyke, let's not get too excited."

"Oh, you are, are you? Not before you come home and take a long bath, you're not! You're so gross, Owain. Why can't you be a nice, clean little boy like Laurent? Kellam keeps him so tidy."

"Who?"

"Laurent's father, dear. Anyway, since you gave me a heart attack this morning, you owe me! _Both _of you!" Lissa stood up straight and crossed her arms.

Vaike stepped back, turning up his nose.

"Me? Whadd'd I do!?" he groaned.

"You're filling his head with all these theatrics! The last thing we need is more trouble with the neighbours. Remember last time?" she sighed in an attempt to look disappointed, though the smile turning the corners of her mouth up betrayed her.

"I swear I didn't know those chickens were real, Ma," Owain mumbled.

"Naw, the guys in town love little Owain! He's Teach's son, after all," Vaike prodded his chest with his thumb proudly, pointing to himself.

"I suppose so," Lissa breathed. "But—hey! I'm pretty sure being a prince of Ylisse is a little more impressive than being _your _son."

"I'd say it's equally important. Hey, who won the last sixteen duals with Chrom? Huh? Who was it?"

"Not important! He was worried that day because Morgan was sick!"

Owain leant back and watched his parents squabble, a grin pasted on his pasty face.

When he got to Gerome's house, he'd have to look for Mysteltainn, if not because it was his first sword, then because it was the sword his parents had given to him, and it was the sword that he'd protect them with.

* * *

**Haven't updated in a while, but I was pretty inspired by a four-year-old kid I saw on the train one day. Let's just say his animated personality and his very nonchalant father triggered some sort of parallel between two of my favourite Fe:A characters.**

**I may move on from Lissa & Vaike, even though I love them so much, because I just can't think of how to continue them. If you've read this and would like to see your favourite character in the next issue, feel free to drop a name in the reviews!**

**Thanks as always, guys!**


End file.
